Premonitions
by stars-n-moons91
Summary: It's been seven years, and all Harry's been doing is thinking... Right? [PostSeries][Rated T for no real reason...yet]
1. Seven Years

"Thanks for meeting me here, Ron."

"Oh, sure, sure…"

I remembered thinking her pretty. All that changed… Not that she wasn't pretty anymore, oh no; her bangs still fell just above her sparkling eyes and her skin was still smooth and fair, just as it had been. But, now! Now the sparkling eyes had faded to a shallow glinting, and her face was edged with grief. I even think I saw the beginnings of a wrinkle above her brow.

With nothing more to say, she quietly followed me out of the dank alley and into the lively streets of London-in-the-Evening (that's what I always called it; the city seemed to turn into a completely different place come seven o'clock). She walked close behind with her head down and looked up only when I turned to see if she was still there.

"We're turning."

I took a left and carried on. We'd turned onto a street crammed with close-set apartment buildings that showed a remarkable amount of wearing. The suffocatingly cramped architecture accompanied by the run-down walls made the scenery look rather menacing to Hermione, I could tell, for she picked up her pace and came even closer to me, but never saying a word.

I came to my door and started fumbling with my keys. My partner continued on.

"Hermione? This is it, right here…"

She stopped and turned in her tracks. With wide eyes she traced the huge crack along the edge of the doorframe and stopped at the keys in my hand. She said nothing.

Humiliated, I flung open the door and stomped inside. 'You've got to be kidding me,' I thought. 'Seven years later, and her expectations haven't lowered an inch…'

I heard quick footsteps trying to catch up with me and continued on past the crumbly stairway and towards the back of the building. As I neared the end of the hallway, screaming erupted from my neighbor's apartment.

I heard Hermione gasp. "What's going on?" she whispered.

"It's Macky," I murmured, turning from my own doorway to his. "He's a drunk." I began to search for another key in the dim hall light. "Got badly beaten until his seventeenth; ran away from home and straight into the bar down the block."

"Where does he get money?"

"He hasn't any."

"Well, then, how's he-"

"His rent, along with the other five people in this hallway, is paid by me. He gets his food at the shelter."

My old friend's hand went to her mouth. "Ron, how do you get by?"

I looked up from the doorknob I'd finally managed to stuff my key through and flashed a smile. As if I actually 'got by'. But, I said nothing and pushed open the door. We faced a naked Macky, lashing around in his own vomit, screaming bloody murder. I ran to him and crouched down by his side.

"Macky! Macky, you're OK…" It was hard to sound soothing over his screams. "You're going to be fine!"

Hermione stood in the doorway, shocked, as I took his grimy hand. He stopped moving and panted, looking around the room frantically. I stroked his greasy hair and his breathing became more shallow and even.

"Relax, Mack, you're fine… You're fine…"

I saw Hermione glance at the floor next to us- or, at least, the numerous broken vodka and whiskey bottles that paved the ground. The apartment was disgusting, what with the monstrous cockroaches, broken glass, and several questionable stains on the moldy carpet and walls. There was even a great dead rat sprawled and smelling in the far corner. The only furniture in the room was an understuffed couch and a three-legged table, and a broken refrigerator lay open on the side. I noticed some fresh blood on its corner and lifted Macky's head to reveal a big oozing wound.

"He must've gone for another beer and near fainted. Poor ol' Mack…"

Hermione harrumphed, but stayed quiet while I lifted the man into my arms and placed him on the couch. He was extremely thin and probably weighed no more than 100 pounds, a poor weight for a man of 23 years old at 5'11". I found a blanket among the pile of bottles in his bedroom and tucked it under his shivering, naked body.

"The price you pay for walking around in your nudy-pants, eh, Macky?" I chuckled.

"How can you be taking this so lightly!" whispered Hermione in a harsh tone. "He could be dying!"

"Oh, nonsense. I know an injury when I see one, and this is just a bad bump. Heads bleed badly, anyway, so it's not as awful as it looks… Go into my room and look in my remedy cabinet, I've got enough open wound potions to save an army. Oh, and get some soup, too." I threw my keys to her and she left the apartment.

--

"Where am I to sleep?"

"In my room, of course."

Hermione stared at me blankly.

I smiled. "I'll be on the couch."

She grinned and sighed. "Well, good night, Ron."

"G'Night… Oh, um… Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"For what, Ron?"

"Going with me tomorrow."

I watched her face as it went from bad to worse. Her fair skin turned gray, her mouth drooped, and her eyes welled up with tears. She turned and fled into my bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

Well. Wasn't this a swell night?

--

Mornings always started early for me. It had to when you worked in St. Mungo's, of course, but today wasn't an ordinary trip to the hospital. I propped myself up and stared into the quiet morning darkness, breathing in the air of the new day. The whole 'incident' drove me into intense appreciation for everything I had… And didn't have. I glanced at the door blocking the view into my room. If I had just gone for it back in school…

I shook my head and rolled off the couch onto my feet. Childish fantasies. I realized now that Hermione and I would never work. But at some point I had really cared for her, and a little twang in the back of my mind told me that she had, too.

But that wasn't what was important now. Right now, it was Harry, all alone in the hospital. Well, not really; he probably got about fifty visitors every day: witches and wizards pressing their noses against the one glass wall of his room to catch a glimpse of him- their 'savior', as the _Daily Prophet_ called him. But what I mean by alone is the state of mind he was in. Not a coma, really; he still functioned normally. 'No one knows me,' he says. And he's right. No one knows the pain he's been through, and no one knows the agony his mind relives each day, each moment. Every waking second. Sometimes I like to think that I understand. I've lost everything… At least, the little that I had, I lost. But I know it's only sympathy. Harry had more than I did, and he lost it all, too.

Breakfast was either toast or buttered toast. I looked in my wallet, which held a rusty nail, a very old picture of Mum, Dad, and the rest of my siblings, and a total of exactly $2.43. Not enough for a deformed donut these days. "That's life…" I muttered, and popped two slices of toast into my toaster.

As I waited, I studied my apartment. It was probably the best room on the whole block, but the Muggles around didn't see that. Apparently, they saw a tamer, less drunken version of Macky's room; I saw decent hardwood floors, two upholstered couches, and a polished countertop surface complete with a newish-looking sink. It was how I'd found out my last girlfriend was a witch, actually, and the thought of it made me grin… But not too much.

I set out two plates on the counter and piled a loaf's worth of toast on each of them, then got out a tub of butter from my (working) refrigerator. "Breakfast!" I called when my work was done, and brushed off my hands. Cooking Muggle style had always been a gift of mine, for whatever reason.

Moments later, a very groggy Hermione stumbled out of my room. Her hair was a frizzy mess and dark circles sat heavily under her eyes. I couldn't help but smile.

"Morning, sunshine!"

"Eh."

I thrust the plate of toast under her nose. She looked at me through droopy lids, grabbed a single piece, and flopped down onto the couch. I proceeded to scarf down the other thirteen pieces of bread and toss the plate into the sink, shattering it.

"Repairo!" I chuckled, and the pieces glued themselves back together with a light tinkling sound.

Hermione sighed. "Ron, the last time I saw your repairo charm was… Well, that ugly glass sculpture in the Dursely's living room was never the same again!"

We both laughed. I'd always wondered why I fixed that thing… Well, I guess I didn't really fix it, but the gesture it had formed was enough to give the Durselys a good idea of what I thought about them.

Hermione and I got ready as quickly as possible. We were both excited to see Harry, no matter what state he was in. It must be admitted that I combed my hair just a little bit nicer and I brushed my teeth just a little bit longer than I normally do, whether it was because of Harry or Hermione I didn't know.

"Hermione, really, we've got to leave!" I'd been waiting by the door for a good twenty seconds and I was itching to get to St. Mungo's. It was quite a walk from my house.

"I'm coming, I'm coming…" Hermione muttered. She walked out of my room smearing lipstick across her mouth. It was a nice color on h-

No. _No._ No, it wasn't.

I felt like my eyes were disobedient puppies, and my mind was their owner, reluctant to scold for the simple fact that they were just so darn cute…

'…Did I just think the word 'cute'? What the bloody _hell!_ One night with a woman and already I'm about to turn cutesy.'

'I just did it again. Great.'

"Ron."

I snapped out of my train of thought and realized that Hermione was waving her hand in front of my face.

"Oh. You're still alive."

I smiled (and probably blushed a bit) and opened the door, awaiting the trip I had anticipated for so long…

--

Kind of a crappy first chapter. I'm really hoping it gets better.

-Starsies Melavowig


	2. Lose

I want to glare at them. I really do. But I just… can't. They don't know. No one does.

I want to hide from them. I want to hide from everything. But I can't, because someone has to know. But no one does.

_Know what?_

Seriously, I'm insane. My own mind is asking me a question.

_It's not your own mind, Harry. It's mine, too. Didn't fat little Dudley teach you to share?_

No… Oh, great. Now I'm talking to it.

_I know, Harry. _

Now I'm just confused.

_I know how you feel._

Then why did you ask?

_Because… Don't question me._

Hey, you're 'sharing my mind'. You'd better be nice to the schizophrenic freak.

…

No one understands my pain. No one has ever known the things I had to know. No one's had to do the things I had to do.

Especially them.

I look to the glass window and immediately four people begin screaming and punching at the glass. One has flowers. Another has a sign: 'We Love You, Harry', it reads. The other two are trying to talk to me.

I don't need this. I don't want this, and I never have. They wouldn't love me if they knew why I did the things I had to do. It wasn't because I wanted to 'save the wizarding world from the clutches of the dark Lord Voldemort'. It wasn't because I wanted to avenge my friends or save the few I had left. It wasn't even because I wanted all this bloody glory.

No.

It was because I had hoped to lose.

--

Never once had I let myself go a single day without flashing my teeth to the world, a promise I'd kept for seven years, and who better to share them with than my old friend as we strolled down the busy sidewalk towardsour looming destination? "So… Dublin, eh?"

Hermione gave me a warm smile. "Yeah…"

"Why so far away?"

"It's not that far…"

"For the rest of us, it is."

My friend thought quietly about my statement. "…You know exactly why, Ron. Don't make me bring this up again…" That hurt look returned to her face.

"Oh."

We continued in silence. The tip-top of St. Mungo'scould be seenin the distance.

A full five minutes passed. "And what… exactly… do you do, Ron?"

I brightened. I loved my job title. "Healer of the Mortally Wounded."

"Eegh… Really?"

"Yup. And you've gone and opened up a… what was it… a _restaurant?_"

Hermione nodded vigorously. "For the magical folk of Ireland… We're big with leprechauns."

I'd always hated the little buggers. "That's… great!"

"I know. I had no idea it'd become so successful…"

"Well, you would think."

"What do you mean?"

"There's such a lack of anything for the Irish wizarding population besides potatoes… I'm surprised no one's thought of it yet."

"Very true. And you know so much about this… why?"

I smirked. "You'd be surprised how protective the Irish are of their potatoes…"

We laughed and continued to chat, catching up on the past seven years. We talked about our new homes, our new friends,… Anything that didn't have to do with the day that drove us apart. I learned about Hermione's newest spell concoction ("It's the best orange juice I've ever tasted!"), and she discovered my latest and more interesting bad habit ("Ron… Why are you plucking at your belly button?"). But there was one thing we both knew all too well: Our lives had definitely changed.

"Oop… Here we are!" I said, realizing we had almost completely missed the entrance. I pulled Hermione by the arm, completely excited, towards the doors, when all of a sudden I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Ron?"

"What?" I answered shakily.

"Are… Are you going to go in?"

I thought about this. I wanted to go. I had to see my best friend. I'd passed up his corridor long enough in the days past. But something, a strange premonition, told me no. Don't go see him. Trouble. Danger. WARNING.

_Go away..._

I blinked. This was remarkably stupid. "Yeah. Yeah…"

--

So. This was kinda crappy, too. Oh, well, it's just something I slapped together.

MORE SOONISH. I hope. Maybe.

…We'll see.

-Starsies Melavowig


End file.
